


This Too Shall Pass

by orphan_account



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Warming Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:13:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2217003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like puberty, but for dead people.  The changes are awkward, emotional, and a little bit sticky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Too Shall Pass

 

Coming back doesn't happen the way they expect it to, after Amy. Once Kieren and Simon cave and seek medical attention, it becomes apparent that the shaking and seizures fit the symptoms Amy had felt as well, but they're coming so terribly _slowly_. Dr. Russo smiles, tries to attribute it to grief, but they doubt it.

And then, one foggy evening, Amy comes meandering back into Roarton.

“Did you miss me, boys?” It's a simple, innocent question, but it nearly breaks Simon and Kieren when they hear her voice booming from the hall in the bungalow. She pokes her head into the living room, and they'd surely have heart attacks if their hearts were still beating. Amy just grins and says, “You should really keep my door locked, loads of unsavory sorts 'round these parts.”

Her smile isn't as bright at first, and she's so pale she could be mistaken as undead. But she's not, she's warm and human and _alive_. Kieren doesn't know what they did to her wherever she was, how they set her heart ticking again, but he's not going to question it if it means he can hold her like he used to.

Simon doesn't know what they did to her either, but he has an idea. They spend an awful lot of time hugging now, just the two of them, with him running a soothing hand across her hair and her lightly tracing the scar down his back. She cries, once or twice, tells him about how terrified she was when she woke up again, alone under florescent lights. And then she laughs, jokes about how she's the special one, the beautiful one, the incredible one. Amy Dyer, back from the dead a second time.

“Hopefully,” Simon says, “Here to stay.”

She does bring one nugget of good news back: the second rising is happening, just not in the way anybody expected. Whatever they did to her at the treatment center confirmed that she had gradually returned from the dead, and the others should soon follow suit.

It means that they're sure to come back, all of them.

She doesn't kick Simon out of her (their) bungalow. Even if she wanted it back, the half-assed paint job to cover up the derogatory but wholly unthreatening ULA graffiti changed her mind right quick. But that's not why, it's because she and Phillip almost immediately move into a small home together. If Kieren and Simon thought they overreacted to her return, they should have seen the waterworks on that one.

Very rarely does a day pass where she doesn't pop her head in at least once, though. Seems like she does it to check up on Simon, to pat his cheeks and pray for warmth. Kieren still spends a lot of time at home, still has the stilted but whole-hearted support and love of his family.

That support is extended to Simon, of course, but it's still nice to have someone else around who loves him out of more than just a courtesy.

“You screwed me over big time, buster,” she says one morning, eating the cereal she bought specifically for her visits to the bungalow. “I never got to chew you out for having a scandalous affair with my BDFF.”

Simon knows she's just ribbing him, but he ducks his head in shame anyway. In a transparent attempt to change the subject, he asks, “Is he really your best _dead_ friend forever if you're both coming back to life?”

“Uh, _duh_ ,” she says, like it's obvious. “I meant _forever_. And don't give me that jealous look, there's a special place in my heart for arsehole exes who snog my besties in broad daylight.”

Simon laughs, but he feels like a dickhead.

-

Kieren's the first to show signs. Amy keeps poking at his chest and rubbing his arms like she's trying to increase the blood flow that still isn't really there. It's still just sluggish, syrupy black bile. That much is obvious from how frequently it trickles down his lip. Bleaching the bedsheets every time Kieren wakes up with a nosebleed is starting to get really old really quickly. When Simon starts to occasionally get them as well, they admit defeat and sleep with towels layered under their heads.

But that's all for now. Shaking, nosebleeds, sometimes chest pains and the distinct need to actually remember to breathe for a few seconds. These symptoms have been stretching on for weeks, and Amy can't stop gloating about how quickly it was for her.

It's exciting, in a way. But it's also terrifying. Simon manages to find a solace in death that hadn't existed in his life. A blood flow will mean his body is coming back to life, which means he will be human again. And if there was one thing he was good at when he was human, it was relapsing.

He's terrified of it, really. It was easier to appreciate this second chance when it was impossible for him to fall back into his old habits. Now, he's watching Kieren sitting slumped in a chair with his arms crossed and his eyes angry. He's trying to fight off a craving for chocolate, because he knows he'll just puke it up after a while. Simon sees the itch under Kieren's skin like it's his own.

And he's afraid.

-

The first time anything significantly out of the norm happens is on a lazy sunday morning. Kieren slept at the bungalow overnight, and wakes to the blissful absence of a nosebleed. The sun is shining for once, actually _shining_ and not just a half-assed glow behind the clouds. Simon's been awake for about twenty minutes, just lying around like he's got nothing to do today.

Kieren looks beautiful as he stretches out like a cat, face smushed against the pillow and hair in disarray. There are roses in his cheeks. He's still pale, but that blood of his might just be tuning red. When he opens his eyes, he looks more relaxed than Simon's ever seen him.

“Hey you,” he mutters, voice scratchy from sleep. He leans over, and Simon meets him halfway for a kiss.

Only something goes a little wrong.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Kieren yelps, recoiling at the touch. Simon, bless his little undead heart, feels like shit immediately, like he just stepped a puppy's foot. Kieren sits up and rubs at his lips with a manic look in his eye.

“Kieren, what's wrong,” Simon asks, sitting up but not daring to touch. “Kier, look at me.”

Kieren turns his head slowly, and there's something almost like a smile sitting at the corner of his mouth. “Touch me.”

Simon blanks. “What.”

“Touch me again,” Kieren says, moving closer. Simon hesitates, afraid Kieren will jerk away from him, but lifts his hand anyway. Fingers hover just over Kieren's cheekbones for a few seconds before Simon lightly trails them down his face and _oh_.

Kieren closes his eyes and clenches his teeth a bit, but he's smiling for real now. “You're _freezing_ ,” he giggles, and Simon has to laugh.

The rest of the morning is spent fooling around – well not _fooling around_ , they still can't manage that. Neither of them mind, though, not with the way Kieren strips them down to nothing and revels in the basic sensation of touch.

“I never thought I'd miss the cold,” Kieren mummers in between trying valiantly to suck bruises into bloodless skin. “But _god_ , it's so good to feel it.”

Simon suddenly feels terrible for all those fears he had about shedding his dead skin and emerging alive. He can't fight the sudden urge to hook his arm around Kieren's waist and flip him over onto his back. Kieren laughs high in his throat, all giddy and delighted and full of life.

He rains frozen kisses down on Kieren's chest, drags his hands along Kieren's flanks as he bites at a flat stomach, mouths across Kieren's hips and thighs, skates his lips down Kieren's calves and reverently kisses the tops of Kieren's feet. Once he gets that far down, though, it's not long before he feels hands in his hair. Kieren tugs him up gently but firmly, because it's always Kieren calling the shots.

By the time they finally roll out of bed, Kieren mentions that the feeling is dulling again. He doesn't stop touching Simon for the rest of the day, though, like he's chasing after the ghost of the sensation.

-

Here's something new: _fevers_. First the cold, now the hot.

It sort of comes out of nowhere, really. One second they're sitting in the Walker's living room, settling into a pleasant sort of monotony that they rarely get to enjoy with the ULA and HVF stragglers around. The next second, Kieren is wriggling around and making tiny cutoff grunts every few minutes like his stomach is all knotted up.

“Looks like you've got period cramps,” Jem teases, but her tone is flat and her face is uncertain.

“I'm fine,” he insists, but nobody really believes him. Once he starts shaking, though, Jem looks at Simon with a panicked sort of desperation and a question in the set of her brows. He gives her a nod, and she cranes her neck over the back of the couch to call up the stairs.

“Mum, something's wrong with Kier!”

“Shut up Jem,” Kieren mutters breathlessly, “'M fine.”

“Don't look fine,” Simon says, and Kieren shoots him a glare that still somehow manages to be withering from behind glassy eyes. Jem moves to kneel in front of him just as Sue comes rushing down the stairs.

She sucks in a breath when she runs a hand across Kieren's forehead. He's hot to the touch and blanching so pale that he somehow manages to look even more dead.

They all agree to call Amy over.

“Well aren't you just burning right up,” she says pressing her cheek to Kieren's forehead. “Never happened to me once, but I guess I did sort of die again right quick. Doctors said something about. . . Temperature fluctuation? I wasn't one for listening much when they were sticking needles in me all day.”

Simon grimaces from where he's packing ice in a bag in the kitchen, wincing at the reminder of the treatment center. He wanders back over to the small crowd in the living room, thermometer from Sue in his hand, and brushes Kieren's hair off of his forehead almost without thinking.

Kieren's reaction startles him, though. He chases after Simon's fingers, leaning away from Amy but still keeping his hand clamped down on her arm. She giggles, follows the motion, and Kieren wastes no time gluing himself to Simon's side, shoving his face in the crook of a neck and trailing his feverish fingers under Simon's clothes to get at the skin.

“Um,” Simon says, and Amy barks out a laugh.

“You're like a walking ice cube!” she says.

“I am?”

“You're dead, silly,” she says, and _oh yeah_. “You're freezing.”

“Uh-huh,” Kieren groans weakly. “And I'm on fucking fire.”

“Looks like you won't be needing that ice bag, huh,” Jem says. She still looks worried, but there’s mischief in her eyes.

“We ought to get him upstairs into his bed,” Sue says. “Just phoned the clinic and they said he should be alright, but we should keep him cool and watch out for any more. . . Problems.”

She looks almost as pale as Kieren.

“We'll take it from here, Mrs. Walker,” Amy announces. “Undead bedside manner is excellent, I assure you.”

If anything, Sue looks even more distressed, but she nods and gives them her blessing to haul Kieren upstairs. He's all wobbly in the legs, but Amy and Simon manage to drag him to his room without any major injuries. They get Kieren situated on the bed and Jem pops in with a glass of water.

“Sure he should be drinking that?” Amy asks. “Are his insides alright?”

“He should _definitely_ be drinking that,” Kieren croaks, and all three of them jump on the opportunity to help him. He downs the glass quickly, and Amy helps to lower him back down on the bed.

“Welp,” Amy turns to look at Simon, Kieren still clinging to her sleeve, “Off with the shirt.”

Both Simon's and Jem's eyes go very wide.

“What?” Amy looks offended that they're questioning her. “Gotta cool him down, yeah? Can't do that through a big ugly jumper, now can you?”

Simon turns to look at Jem, pleading with his eyes, but she just shrugs. “You heard the lady.”

“Right then,” Amy says, “Hop to it.”

“Amy, this is ridiculous,” Simon protests, but she's hearing none of it.

“Don't want to be gallant for your poor, sick man?” she teases. “Well, then I'm glad you and I didn't work out in the end.”

Simon gives her a miserable look, but she's undeterred. As soon as the jumper comes off, she shoots a deliberate glance down. _Hell no_ , these pants are staying _on_. Instead of putting his foot down, though, Simon just slumps his shoulders and groans pathetically.

“Oh, fine,” she huffs. “Be that way.”

Kieren is still trying to insist that all this is unnecessary, even though he's sweating through two layers of clothing and shaking with full-body tremors that aren't shivers. Simon sits on the edge of his bed, feeling awkward and pointlessly shirtless as he pushes Kieren's bangs aside for the fiftieth time in an hour.

Amy puts her hand on her hips and looks at Jem. “Shall we get Kieren down to his skivvies, then?”

This time, Jem doesn't look excited. “I thought you were supposed to keep people with fevers warm.”

“I'm already warm,” Kieren mutters, and starts fighting with his shirt.

“Don't think it's that kind of fever, love,” she says, watching Simon try to help Kieren peel his shirt off. “His body's coming back and he doesn't know how to handle it. Been cold so long that he can't figure out normal anymore.”

Eventually, they get Kieren down to a t-shirt and briefs. Simon feels awkward and uncomfortable with two sets of eyes watching him try to maneuver into an acceptable position with Kieren clinging to his neck. Jem disappears and then comes back with a bag full of ice, just in case. Amy takes it and applies it wherever Simon isn't touching.

Eventually, Jem sneaks off to bed and Sue decides she trusts them enough with her son for the night. There's worry in her eyes, and Simon doesn't have it in him to flash a reassuring smile.

They stay like that all night, with Simon lying beneath Kieren and Amy running the bag of ice down Kieren's back. After what has to be her hundredth yawn in ten minutes, Simon tells her to get some rest. She complies, only at Kieren's urging. Once she's gone, Simon picks up the slack and fully wraps his cold arms around Kieren, hoping for the fever to go down.

It fascinates him, in a way, how small Kieren is next to him. It just takes his two arms and the wide splay of his palms to cover most of Kieren's back. Kieren doesn't speak for the rest of the night, just tangles their legs together and presses his face in the hollow of Simon's throat.

-

Sometime after the sun has risen, Kieren's door begins to creak open. Simon watches as Steve's head slowly comes into view, and almost laughs when his eyes go wide at the sight of his sick son lying on top of a half naked undead man.  For a horrifying second, Simon is incredibly conscious of the hand that's snaked under the back of Kieren's shirt.

There's a moment where he almost sits up to explain himself, but then Steve wordlessly backs away, eyes still huge, and closes the door.

Then Kieren's fever breaks during the afternoon, and he does a complete 180.

“I am _so cold_ ,” he mutters. “I think I'm dead again.”

“Actually,” Amy says, “You feel pretty normal. Definitely not completely dead. Feel sick maybe?”

“No, but now I'm freezing.”

“Sweetie,” Sue says, eying the thermometer and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, “You're just right. No fever.”

There's a lot of bustling about and calls to the clinic. Simon stands in the corner by Kieren's desk the entire time, restless fingers drumming on the wood. He's finally been given permission to put his clothes back on, though the way Kieren woke up and tried to shove him off the bed because he was too cold made it apparent that half-naked Simon wasn't necessary anymore.

Eventually, Kieren gets sick of everybody congregating in his bedroom to loudly worry about him, and he asks them very pointedly to _please just speculate about my undead health somewhere else_. They all file out, Simon last, but Kieren stops him.

“No, no,” he says, “You stay here.”

Simon doesn't know if he should say anything, because seriously, Kieren was _not_ happy to wake up feeling frozen after being feverish all night. Thankfully, he seems to be over it now, though. Simon walks over and perches on the side of the bed, careful to keep his cold skin off of Kieren's.

“Sorry for using you as a mattress last night,” Kieren mutters. “I was a little worried about all the water they had me drink, honestly.”

Simon breathes out a small laugh. “Well, thanks for not pissing yourself.”

Kieren snorts, and straight up _blushes,_ all pink-cheeked and everything. “Yeah, glad that didn't happen.”

Simon's mouth is agape and he's doing the staring thing again, but he honestly can't help it. There's a smile fighting it's way across his face and something that feels like the tickle of butterfly wings trying to kick up in his atrophied insides. Kieren gets a grumpy look about him that's entirely too forced.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Simon mutters, and then brushes his frozen fingers along the curve of Kieren's ear. “Your ears are burning, is all.”

Kieren swats his hand away and flushes harder before flopping down and shoving his face in the pillow. Simon outright cackles.

“Not having too much fun without me, I hope,” Amy says, waltzing back into the room like she never went farther than the hall, with Jem trailing behind her.

“Did you know Kieren blushes?” Simon asks, and Jem grins.

“Oh, god, yeah” she rolls her eyes, “He was always terrible about that.”  
  
Kieren shifts then, moving his arm out from underneath the duvet to show off his newly-warm middle finger to the room.

-

There are good changes, and there are bad changes.

“I really don't think this is necessary,” Simon mutters, letting Kieren drag him to the door of the clinic. He's been starting to feel a little bit more lately, but it's all been centered around his spine, and it's all been incredibly uncomfortable.

“Simon, it's not like the other scars,” Kieren says. “It's an _open wound_. It came after, not before. I know they did some fucked up shit to you, but you've got to get this taken care of before it festers or something.”

“Christ's sake, Kieren,” Simon whines, “Not like I'm dying again.”

By the look on Kieren's face, though, he doesn't seem convinced. They wait for nearly an hour, Simon's leg bouncing like crazy as his fingers drum a senseless rhythm on his knee the whole duration. By the time they're called back into the examination room, Simon feels less like he's about to vibrate out of his skin. It's only when he starts explaining his problem that his words become jumbled and stupid, but he gets everything out with a little help from Kieren.

Doctor Russo looks intrigued. “Well, let's see then.”

“You want me to leave?” Kieren asks, and Simon quickly shakes his head no. He gets to his feet and sheds his jacket. When he goes to undo the buttons on his shirt, his fingers shake. The shirt slides off his shoulders, and he deposits it into Kieren's waiting hands.

And then, he turns around.

“Oh, goodness,” Doctor Russo mutters, and Kieren rolls his eyes so hard it probably jumpstarts the dead nerve endings. After about an hour of poking and prodding, Kieren's hand held tightly in Simon's the whole time, it's decided that he needs to return to the treatment center for surgery.

“ _No_ ,” Kieren says, his tone leaving no room for an argument. “You will do it here.”

Simon wants to thank him, but he can't find the words. Can't find any words, it's like his throat is full up with cotton.

“I'm afraid I haven't got the equipment or skill to help him here,” Doctor Russo explains.

“Then we'll take him to hospital somewhere,” Kieren says, “But not to Norfolk.”

It's decided after two days and about eighty phone calls that Simon will be taken to a hospital in the city to have his back all closed up tight. Once there, they explain in fairly simple terms exactly what the surgery will entail. Simon hears exactly none of it through the buzzing in his head. Jem and Kieren are here, squeezing his shoulders and holding his hands. Dean's outside in his truck, probably sleeping after the drive it took to get them here.

They decided public transportation isn't a great idea right now.

Either way, it's nice to have them here. Simon doesn't know if he would be able to stand his ground if he was alone. The urge to pelt out the door is strong even with two sets of hands holding him still.

They don't ask questions about how he ended up like this, and for that he's glad. They even let Kieren stay in the room as they put him under. Kieren squeezes his hand tightly, like he thinks applying more pressure will make Simon feel the warmth bleeding through.

The smile on Kieren's face is what keeps him calm, though. It's what assures him that he might just be alright.

-

Upon waking up, he notices two things: he's on his stomach and he can feel _pain_.

For a terrifying moment, he's back on that gurney again, head strapped in place and arms spread wide. But he's not, he's lying against scratchy sheets in a darkened room with nobody digging around in his spine.

“Oh, goodie, you're awake,” he hears, and manages a smile at the sound of that voice.

“Hello, Amy,” he coughs a bit at the dryness of his throat. “Didn't expect to wake up to your beautiful face.”

Amy flushes, delighted, and lightly smacks his arm. “Quiet, you little heartbreaker. How would Kieren feel if he heard you flirting with me?”

“Can't help myself,” he smiles weakly. “Where is Kieren, anyway?”

“Dean's got friends in the city,” she explains. “They're bunking there for the night. Kieren wasn't too keen on staying in, but he looked dead tired.”

A beat passes, and Simon has to ask. “So, how bad does it look?”

“Well, it's a good thing you did this when you were still mostly dead,” she says, craning her head a bit to peek at the open back of his hospital gown. “I mean, the whole exposed spine was sort of killing you again, but since most of you isn't alive yet, they patched you together easily and you should mend nice and quick with zombie magic or something.”

“Zombie magic?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Kieren stabbed me once, straight through my innards, and it healed up just fine when I warmed up.”

“Kieren _stabbed_ you?” Simon asks, lifting his head a fraction.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves it off, “In his defense, I was pretending to be rabid.”

They chat a bit longer, but Simon is drowsy and achey and has a hard time keeping up with the conversation after a while. Amy runs her fingers through his hair and starts talking in softer tones, almost like she's trying to lull him back to sleep.

If that's her aim, it works.

Next time he opens his eyes, Kieren is there. He isn't awake like Amy was, but he's in the same chair. His knees are curled up to his chest, and he looks so small under the waning florescent bulb above Simon's bed. There's subtle differences in his appearance now that he's no longer preserved by death. His hair is getting shaggier, and there's a dull pallor to his skin that casts dark bags under his eyes, different from the grayness of being undead but still rather sickly looking.

It hurts a bit, to think of him at eighteen, curled up in a cave like he is now, blood seeping into his clothes. Simon doesn't know how long he just lies there watching Kieren sleep, but eventually Kieren stirs. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and smiles once he notices Simon is awake.

“Hey,” Simon mutters, and presses his hands into the mattress in a move to push himself up. His back seizes though, sharp pain wrapping around his spine and squeezing tight. Kieren is up in a second, shushing him gently and guiding him back down to lie flat.

“Well, that was stupid,” Simon grits out, and Kieren mutters in agreement.

“So,” he drags a hand through Simon's hair, “How does it feel?”

“Not bad, I guess,” Simon lies, and Kieren's face shifts to something unreadable.

“Do not bullshit me, Simon,” he warns.

Simon sighs hard enough to disturb his back. It's worth it. “Fine. Feels like I'm split open down the middle. Hurts like a son of a bitch.”

Kieren shifts to sit gingerly next to Simon on the bed. “Good,” he says. “Means you can feel.”

“You know, I think I'd rather stay dead then,” Simon whines.

Kieren leans down and kisses Simon's temple. “These are just, you know, growing pains. Things'll get better. I'll help you get better.”

Then there's another kiss on the shell of Simon's ear, and he wants to badly to believe Kieren.

-

They prescribe him strong pain pills with the hopes that the'll actually work on him as a still-cold PDS sufferer. At first, he's hesitant to accept them, but eventually pockets the prescription and comes up with a steady mantra of _they won't even work_. His hands shake when he unscrews the lid, and he knows it has nothing to do with warming up. Those first few pills make him vomit black bile into the sink, though, and he decides right there that he'll just deal with the pain no matter how bad it gets.

It gets pretty bad.

Kieren insists on staying at the bungalow most of the time during the early stages of healing. Someone has to stick around to clean around the wound every night, and Kieren just accepts the responsibility before it's ever brought up. Simon hisses every time Kieren gently dabs at the black scabbed incision.

“So you can feel that, then?”

“S'pose,” Simon mutters, voice coming out strained.

“Either you do or you don't,” Kieren gently chides, pressing again and eliciting another hiss.

“Hurts like hell,” Simon admits. “Stings a little, too.”

Kieren starts drying the area around the stitches, so gentle and slow he's hardly touching at all. “Looks a hell of a lot better than it did when you got back.”

“Yeah?"

Kieren leans down and plants a firm kiss on Simon's shoulder. “Yep.”

Time passes in painful monotony. Not once does Simon veer between hot or cold like the rest of the undead had. All he feels is the constant ache down his spine. Kieren and Amy are always hovering around just out of reach. Hell, even Sue stops by once or twice to check in.

The pain gradually ebbs off every few hours before returning with searing intensity. Kieren seems amazed at how rapidly the skin is knitting and reshaping into something that looks like a healed up scar. Simon wants to bitch up a storm about the pain, but he also doesn't want to see worry creasing that face.

Kieren notices anway, of course. He only pushes it once, though they both just wind up getting pissy with each other. Now, when he notices Simon tensing up and clenching his teeth, he just brushes Simon's hair off his forehead and sits with him until the pain passes.

-

“You're sure you're going to be alright while I'm gone?”

“Yeah, fine,” Simon says. “Back's almost healed up. Go on, I'll have Amy to check up on me."

“Yep,” Amy pops in and hugs Kieren from behind. “We're going to have a _whole month_ to gossip about your pretty mug.”

She squeezes his face for good measure. He giggles and tries to shake her off. “Amy, stop! Okay, I get it, you're good. I'm going to miss you two.”

“Well,” Amy begins, “As much as we'd love to traverse to the glorious south to visit your stuffy relatives, there must always be an undead in Roarton. Which means Simon, and Simon needs a handler, which means me.”

“Wouldn't want your neighbors to get too comfortable,” Simon says.

Kieren smiles. “Just don't stir any shit up.”

“Ah, yes,” Amy says, moving to gently wrap her arms around Simon, “The resident wounded is going to rampage across Roarton in your absence.”

“I think he was talking to you,” Simon says and she gasps in mock offense.

“I'll have you two know that I'm a model citizen,” she says, and Kieren smiles. “Oh, come here, you.”

Amy's hug is appropriately theatrical, with lots of tight squeezing and rocking back and forth. “You better come back to us soon, Kieren Walker. Roarton's going to be a dark and dismal village without your sunny little face.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kieren mutters, squeezing back just as tightly. Eventually, she releases him, and he steps up in front of Simon. There's a moment where Kieren looks like he doesn't know what to do on account of the whole stitched up spine thing, but he opts for reaching up to cup Simon's face.

“You be good now,” he says, and gets up on his tiptoes for a farewell kiss. Simon wastes no time in wrapping his arms around Kieren's waist and tugging him in closer. It's bitter, in a way, because he's not looking forward to a month-long stretch without Kieren. He has to make this one count for a while.

But then Amy wolf whistles, and they both pull apart to laugh.

“You two will have all the time in the world to get freaky with each other in front of your friends when he gets back.”

Kieren has the decency to look a little bashful as he meanders to the door. He offers one last goodbye, and disappears.

“So,” Amy says as soon as the door clicks shut, “Which do you want me to do first: clean your stitches or give you your shot?”

Simon's shoulders slump. The motion pulls uncomfortably at his healing back, but he doesn't even care.

“Don't give me that look,” Amy waggles her finger. “If you die from an infection or go rabid, Kieren will kill me.”

“Back's not even that bad anymore,” Simon whines, but Amy isn't having any of it.

“Back it is, then,” she says, and drags Simon into the bathroom.

-

 _Of course we'd come back to life in the springtime,_ Kieren had said one evening, like he was appalled at nature's poetic timing. Simon, however, doesn't start to bloom until autumn. As the world around him curls up to sleep for the winter, he feels its dying embrace. A goodbye kiss in a freezing gust of wind chills his face raw, and his knees nearly buckle right there in the middle of the street.

Warms and colds, they seemed to be the first things Kieren and the other's had felt. Amy talks about the frigid rain on her face, Kieren remembers the shock he felt when he'd kissed Simon's ice-cold mouth, and the other undead of Roarton have begun bitching about having to dress for the weather.

He'd begun to think maybe he wouldn't warm up like the rest, but here he is. Simon stands in the middle of that street, just letting the cold soak into his bones, until he's broken out of his trance by a car horn.

“Fucking rotter,” the man inside mutters as he drives by, but Simon can't be bothered to feel offended.

-

There's still about a week before Kieren's due back when Simon gets a phone call. It's time to have his stitches out.

“Now, you're still going to be a bit stiff,” Dr. Russo explains, “But you've healed up remarkably well, considering.”

Amy's got one of Simon's hands clamped down in two of hers. She's been answering most of the questions, nodding along to all of Dr. Russo's explanations. Simon just wants to go home and enjoy the luxury of sleeping on his back for the first time in months.

He does, eventually, after promising four times to call Amy if anything goes wrong. There's still some soreness scorching his back, but the bedding accepts him easily.

In the morning, he wanders into the bathroom with the hopes that he'll be able to crane his neck enough to get a look at the scar in the mirror, just out of morbid curiosity. He never gets that far, because his attention is immediate stolen by the small dark pinpricks of hair dusted across his jaw.

Then he realizes: itchy, _itchy_! His face is so fucking itchy that it's suddenly driving him insane. He scratches at his cheeks, noting the audible rasp of fingernails on stubble, and his stomach tries to crawl up his throat when he feels the skin of his fingers become irritated after a few drags along his face.

He looks down at them, expecting to see them flushed red and swollen, but they're still as white as the day he rose. There's no blood flow there, not yet, but he can _feel_.

-

The first thing Amy does when Simon opens the door the next morning is touch his face _a lot_.

“Look at you,” she croons, “All rugged and not dead.”

“Still pretty dead,” he corrects, “But it seems like some things are coming back to life.”

“Oh, _really_?” she cocks an eyebrow and gives him a wicked grin.

“Not _those_ things,” he groans, leaning his forehead against the doorframe.

“Poor, poor, Kieren,” she teases, and skirts past him into the bungalow. Once Simon feels dignified enough to face her, he shuts the door and strides into the living room.

When Simon was alive, he was at an almost constant war with his facial hair. It grew too fast and it grew too thick. Taking care of himself wasn't always his top priority, so when it did grow out it wasn't very pretty. He usually just shaved off the stubble as soon as he could, but it would always come back with a vengeance.

Being dead stopped that vicious cycle. Now that he's coming back to life, though. . .

“I think you look ravishing with the beard,” Amy says. “Not that I want to ravish you or anything. I'm past that point now.”

Simon rubs his eyes and drags his hands down the flanks of his face, across the forest starting to grow on his cheeks. “God, I haven't shaved since before I died, I feel like I'm going to slice my face up if I try. Where do you even buy razors around here?”

“Don't you dare,” Amy warns, waggling a finger. “Not before Kieren gets back.”

“What,” Simon drawls flatly, “You think he fancies hairy blokes with uncontrollably horrible facial hair?”

“Oh, shush, you,” she smacks his arm, “Why is it that the both of you love each other so much but don't love yourselves? Think about how sad it makes you when Kieren gets all mopey about his face, that's how you're being.”

Simon switches tactics, busting out his best puppydog eyes, but he's kind of shit at it and Amy doesn't waver for a second. She convinces him to hold off on shaving until Kieren gets back.

“For me?” she asks, putting on her _own_ puppydog eyes, goddammit, “And for Kieren too, I suppose.”

He snorts, and self-consciously scratches at his chin. “Okay.”

-

It's around nine in the morning when Simon wakes up, and the first thing on his mind is Kieren. Sometime today he should be arriving back in Roarton. For a moment, Simon considers doing something nice to welcome Kieren back. For now, though, he just drags a hand through his bedhead and wanders into the kitchen to find his neurotriptyline. He can jump off that bridge when he gets to it.

The shot injects, small seizures wrack his body, and he nearly collapses against the counter as he rides it out. This whole Second Rising thing would be a lot nicer if it happened quickly, because this shit's getting old. Simon stands there, leaning against the counter, and drags a hand down his face. He's met with a fairly sizable beard, and considers popping into town and buying a razor before Kieren gets back.

Amy would be _so_ disappointed in him right now.

Before he can entertain that thought, the bungalow door swings open. Simon thinks it's Amy using the spare key at first, but the shout from the front door proves him wrong.

“Simon,” Kieren calls out, and Simon's stomach does a backflip, “I've got something to tell you!”

That's odd. No _hello_ , no _I missed you_ , no _guess who_. Kieren sounds excited though, and the smile on his face as he bounds into the kitchen alleviates any of Simon's fears. He's still got a bag slung over his shoulder, like he ran here straight from the train station.

The smile falls immediately, though, and his eyes go impossibly wide.

“I have a heartbeat,” Kieren says, a little breathlessly. “And you have a beard.”

Simon's brain stopped working the minute Kieren stepped in the room, all pink-tinged cheeks and tousled hair. Now what's this news about a _heartbeat_?

“Yeah, that sort of happened while you were away,” he mutters, stalking closer to Kieren with long strides, “What do you mean you have a heartbeat?”

Kieren doesn't seem to be paying much attention. Simon reaches out to press a hand over Kieren's heart as Kieren reaches out to scrape his nails down Simon's face. They just sort of naturally fall into each other at that point. Simon can't feel a steady thump under his hand, but Kieren is so alive against him that he doesn't doubt it for a second.

“Shit, you're still freezing,” Kieren mumbles against Simon's mouth. Simon takes that as his cue to back off, but then Kieren drags him back in for another kiss, all hard and wet and downright filthy. This isn't Kieren Walker, the technically twenty-something undead, wise beyond his years; this is Kieren Walker, the biologically horny eighteen year old with a circulating blood flow and a thing for beards apparently.

And suddenly, he has to breathe.

There's the smallest gasp when Kieren breaks the kiss to come up for air. He doesn't even really pull back, just shifts a bit so he can run his face along Simon's cheek and kiss Simon's ear. He breathes in heavy huffs, because air is a necessity to him now, and _Christ_ , he's _alive_.

“You're never allowed to shave again,” Kieren murmurs against the shell of Simon's ear.

“You're going to get beard burn,” Simon argues.

“Don't give a fuck,” Kieren says, and kisses Simon on the mouth again. Simon might have had something intelligent to say, but it's hard to think, let alone vocalize with someone else's tongue in your mouth. Kieren's kisses are different than usual, they're more thorough and rough. Maybe it's because he can feel now, so he's pushing it as far as he can.

They pull apart again, and Kieren's chest is heaving. When he looks up at Simon, there's a shy smile playing on his face. His pupils are bleeding brown, filling his irises the smallest bit in the center. His skin is almost a healthy shade, his mouth is red and wet.

“Got a heartbeat now,” Kieren breathes. “Lots of blood flowing all over.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kieren knocks their foreheads together, “Real blood, not that black shite. I can do all sorts of great things with it.”

“What kinds of things?” Simon asks, failing at keeping a straight face. Then he feels a firm pressure on both of his shoulders, and doesn't think twice before sinking straight down to his knees.

A lot of what they do feels good, but this feels _right_. Kieren doesn't even have to say anything, doesn't have to continue their stupid joke, because Simon's face is level with where Kieren is starting to, erm, _rise_ against the fabric of his pants. Simon rucks Kieren's shirt up, smiling at the way the muscles jump under his frozen fingertips.

When he glances up, Kieren looks a little skeptical, like he can't believe they're doing this. One eyebrow is cocked, and he looks like he's teetering on the edge of incredulous laughter. Then Simon presses his nose against Kieren's half-hard cock and drags his face up to suck a kiss just above the waistband, and Kieren doesn't look like he wants to laugh anymore.

Simon pulls back and sees the blank set of Kieren's face above the rise and fall of his chest. When Kieren opens his eyes, he reaches down to thread his fingers through Simon's messy hair, drags his hand farther to push the tip of a thumb against Simon's bottom lip, and _yes_ , this is right.

-

Simon finds himself lying all tangled up in bedsheets on his front, because that's where Kieren had wanted him towards the end and now he's too damn lazy to roll over. There's soreness settling into his thighs and hips, a feeling so raw and human that it scares him a little bit. But Kieren's here, keeping him grounded and smoothing a gentle hand down his back. Something about the raised scar has Kieren transfixed.

Simon wriggles a bit, pushing his face against Kieren's thigh. “Gross, yeah?”

Kieren snorts. “Nah. Looks, I dunno, gnarled up. I didn't, uh, hurt it more, did I?”

“No,” Simon mutters. “Little stiff, but it feels alright.”

“And the rest of you?” Kieren asks, dragging his other hand through Simon's hair. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

Simon smiles and drags himself up to sit eye level with Kieren. “No. You didn't do anything I didn't want.”

That seems to pull the last strand of tension out of Kieren's body, and he slumps back heavily against the headboard.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and Simon's expression asks _what for?_ “I'm not exactly a goldmine of experience, you know?”

Simon raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “Well, I wouldn't mind if you had another go at it,” he trails one cold hand down Kieren's stomach. “You know, for the sake of practice.”

“Jesus, Simon,” Kieren giggles, “I'm young but I'm not _that_ young.”

“Never know, Kieren,” Simon grins, “You always find ways to amaze me. Might just amaze yourself this time.”

Simon leans forward then, cups Kieren's neck and kisses along his jaw. Kieren gasps, because Simon is fucking _freezing_ , and proceeds to amaze himself.

-

Later, Amy shows up at the bungalow to welcome Kieren back. Kieren and Simon both scramble after their clothes, trying to make themselves decently presentable. Simon hasn't combed his hair since last night, but he manages to pull himself together enough to answer the door. Kieren's hopeless though, hair all messy and skin covered in bruises and bites and, of course, beard burn.

There's no doubt in Simon's mind that Amy notices immediately, but she mercifully plays dumb.

“Look at you!” she says, pinching Kieren's red cheeks and pulling him into a hug. “Is that a heartbeat I feel, Kieren Walker?”

Kieren stutters out a _hello, yes, I've missed you so much_ , and his smile is so delighted and embarrassed that Simon can't keep his own grin down. Then Amy, still hugging Kieren, turns them in circles like some kind of waltz. When she ends up facing Simon, she shoots him a knowing wink over Kieren's shoulder.

Simon screws his mouth up to fight a smile and pointedly glances away, guilty as charged.

-

There was always a niggling doubt in the back of his mind, a fear of coming back to life that he couldn't shake. After all, he didn't do so well the first time around. Watching Kieren blend in with his family with only the slightest hint of white in his irises makes Simon feel sour, because _what if I fuck that up?_

The shaking is getting worse now, and his nosebleeds have been kicking up more often than before. There's an emptiness in his gut that he'd attribute to hunger, if he remembered what hunger felt like. But still, he is cold.

There's no monumental changes, until one night when Simon's pulled from sleep by a sensation he can't put to words. He blearily blinks himself into the present and casts a glance next to him. Kieren is sitting awake, staring at him like they've never met. Simon rises up immediately.

“What's wrong?”

Kieren swallows. “You don't feel sick, do you?”

“Not particularly,” Simon says. “Why, what's wrong?”

Kieren's face splits into a grin, so sudden and brilliant that Simon's heart catches. “It's just, you feel a little–” he starts to say, but leans forward to kiss Simon on the mouth before he can finish that thought.

Oh.

Warm. He feels _warm_.

“You're blushing,” Kieren mutters, and kisses Simon again.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of using a PDS body to cool down someone who is feverish was shamelessly lifted from a fic in which Kieren helps Jem with one of her nightmares in a similar way iirc but I can't for the life of me find the fic so if someone knows the one I'm talking about, hit me up with a link so I can give proper credit.


End file.
